


Uncharted Territories

by Lexifer



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Acceptance, Alcohol, Bonding, Bulma is as thirsty as the rest of us, Consent, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Loss of Virginity, Making Out, Pair Bond, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Saiyan Culture, Smut, Telepathic Bond, Touch-Starved, Trust Issues, Tumblr Prompt, Vegebul, Vegeta is Demisexual, inner conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-01-18 00:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12377490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexifer/pseuds/Lexifer
Summary: Exploring some of the many firsts of the Earthbound Prince…(And my first nervous foray into Dragonball fandom with a fanfic for the tpthvegebulsmutfest on Tumblr)





	1. Soft Blushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta is on high alert when Bulma needs to get close to him in her lab.

“Hold still, Vegeta,” the woman snapped.

Vegeta’s lip curled up in a partial snarl as his eyes immediately locked on hers, a piercing, black gaze that had cowered kings and generals across the universe.

She planted her hands on her hips and glared back at him. “Look, if you don’t want to upgrade your ratty old armor, that’s fine. There’s the door,” she said, and pointed to the exit of her laboratory for emphasis.

He almost left, just on principal, but his old battle suit really wasn’t holding up to his manic training regime, and was constantly requiring repairs. So instead, he folded his arms over his chest and turned his face from her, eyes trained on the floor directly in front of him. Silently submitting.

“Hmph.” The small, self-satisfied noise that came from her an instant later made him grit his teeth.

She once again stepped up directly behind him, and he fought every instinct within him to turn around, to not leave his back exposed to _anyone_ , not even someone as uselessly weak as she was. He mentally braced himself for her inevitable touch, despising her for putting him in this uncomfortable situation in the first place and feeling oddly self conscious. He had many scars, which was par for the course of being a warrior, but there were a few that tracked vertically down his back that made it obvious that he’d been lashed in the past. The only remaining evidence of his shameful subjugation at Frieza’s hands, and he had some loudmouth Earthling staring right at it.

Her fingertips ghosted up his bare skin with a measuring tape, from the waistband of his training shorts to the base of his neck, making the hairs on his nape prickle. At least there were no questions or comments from her, and she did not linger anywhere unnecessarily. Even so, the lab and the foreign equipment within it stirred Vegeta’s naturally suspicious nature and conjured unpleasant memories. He practically vibrated in place with the effort to remain motionless as the tape spread across the expanse of his shoulders and then down each arm.

“Can you spread your arms straight out to each side?” she asked, suddenly in front of him, her voice all sweetness now that he was being cooperative. He tensed, his arms automatically clenching where they were crossed in front of him. Tentatively, she brought a hand up and rested it gently on his forearm. “Please? I’m almost done.”

Her skin felt cool against his own, and he recalled her mentioning that a Saiyan’s normal body temperature ran higher than that of a human. The effect was oddly soothing, like a cold compress applied directly to his frayed nerves and tumultuous ki. He stared at her hand, simultaneously enjoying and hating the sensation.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, following his line of sight and breaking contact quickly.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled. “Just hurry up.”

He extended his arms as requested, exposing his scarred torso. Her eyes widened and she took a sharp breath. She had seen him in passing without a shirt on now and then, but never this close, this…personal. His jaw clenched as she wound the tape around his chest and then his waist, waiting for some biting remark on how marred his flesh was or, even worse, pity towards the ghastly story it told of his life.

She stepped back and inspected him one more time before grabbing her notebook, his arms promptly tightening over his chest defensively.

“Kami, you are just _perfection_ ,” she said under her breath as she added the rest of his measurements, her cheeks turning several shades of pink as she realized that she had said it aloud. She giggled nervously and tried to lighten the mood in her usual and aggravating way, by teasing him. “I bet you’ve left a trail of broken hearts all over the galaxy,” she said slyly with a wink.

“We’re done here, I take it?” he growled, turning on his heel and exiting the lab before she could see the evidence of the heat on his own face. He could _feel_ her rolling her eyes at his back, her way of still getting in the last word. The woman was absolutely insufferable.

He didn’t know what he was more ashamed of, the fact that she could so easily leave him flustered and unsure of himself, or that her compliment had been so honest in its unintentional delivery that he couldn’t help but feel flattered by it. Then there was the added embarrassment at her implication that he’d had many lovers, as if he could trust anyone enough to let his guard down or afford to have any attachments while living under Frieza’s thumb.

All he knew was that after the indignities he’d just endured, this new armor had better surpass _all_ of his expectations.


	2. Heated Glances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta is so surprised that someone cares about him that he doesn't realize he cares about their well-being, too.

For a while there was only darkness, as if the Otherworld had swallowed him up into his own private abyss. Vegeta floated in the vastness of space, thinking he must of died again and feeling strangely at peace with it. Yet as his mental awareness sharpened, so too, did the knowledge that he was still bound to his body.

He was not dead after all. Only the living could experience physical pain, and when that sensation came rushing back to him with his consciousness, it made his eyes snap open and his mouth part in a soundless gasp that was trapped within his ruined chest. The simple act of drawing and exhaling breath was almost unbearable.

He was grievously injured, even for him. Alarmed, he blinked away the haze to assess his situation, his world going from black to white as he realized that he was staring at a blank paneled ceiling. He tilted his head to the left, staring at the IV by his bedside, his gaze following the tubing down to where it met his taped hand. He would have groaned if his crushed ribs had been capable of taking a deep enough breath to do so.

He was not laid out on some battlefield after an epic war. He was not about to die an honorable warrior’s death, or gather the last of his strength to regroup and wreak havoc against his foes. No, he was still stuck on Earth, his pride as shattered as his body, being cared for like a helpless infant in Capsule Corps’ med bay. Indeed, he was not surprised when he turned his head to the right and saw the woman, fast asleep and partially reclined in a chair at his side.

He remembered heading out to the rebuilt gravity chamber after it had blown up on him. Going from this exact bed, away from this exact woman and her hovering, and pushing himself beyond his limits as his bandages had unraveled under the pull of 400x Earth’s gravity. _“Leave me alone!”_ Those had been the last words he had spoken to her, as she’d hassled him not to train while injured, so of _course_ she was right there. Not only that, but her hand was resting on his.

As a rule, he did not like to be touched. Outside of fighting, training or medical treatment, the only creatures that had sought to touch him had done so with malicious intent for their own amusement. Anyone strong enough to torment him had left him with little choice but to endure, and everyone else had been too afraid of him to attempt casual contact.

Except _her_. A creature so weak that the first time he’d tried to track her by her ki, he’d led himself to a house cat.

Idiot woman. If he had clenched his fingers together while he’d been unconscious, it would have broken her hand.

He had mixed feelings about the sight of her delicate hand draped over his. A touch meant to comfort. It was as alien to him as he was to her.

The effort it took to extricate his hand from under hers led him to believe that he was heavily drugged. He wanted to be angry about it, but didn’t have the energy. His leaden hand didn’t travel far, and when it flopped back into place it resettled over hers, engulfing it completely.

His eyes flicked up to her face to see if it had disturbed her sleep, but she remained motionless. She looked tranquil, her strange blue lashes accenting her porcelain skin, and her pink lips parted ever so slightly. He had been to a lot of planets, and had seen many of species of aliens, but it was remarkable how closely humans resembled Saiyans in appearance, and he had to admit that she was quite beautiful by the standards of either race.

He thought about trying to talk, to wake her up and demand that she cut off whatever painkillers and sedatives she was doping him with this instant, but already he felt the pull of sleep, the weight of his eyelids. He drifted off into the darkness once again, but it was not the peaceful haven of unconsciousness he had been hoping for. It was a fitful sleep from which he couldn’t quite fully wake, plagued by a combination of nightmares and memories.

The infuriating dream he’d had the last time he was injured, of Goku and the other supposed Saiyan from the future taunting him, recurred many times. That dream left him feeling hopeless and exhausted even within his own mind, as they powered up their golden auras and left him behind. No matter how hard he tried, he could not catch up to them.

And who was that boy from the future, anyways, the one who’s power had easily outclassed Frieza and King Cold? Three Saiyans here on earth, or at least there would be in the near future, and Vegeta was somehow the weakest one. The only one who couldn’t ascend. Their Prince. It was the cruelest joke the universe had ever told, besides the fact that both of these Super Saiyans had now killed Frieza for him, robbing him of even simple revenge.

In a fit of bellowing rage, he powered up an energy attack and blasted it at their laughing faces, dispersing their images.

“Vegeta?”

The sound of his name broke through the barrier of the dream realm, and he thrashed awake abruptly. A high-pitched squeal in very close proximity gave him a start, and he sat up in bed in time to see the woman stumbling back from him in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice low and rough from his parched throat.

“You seemed like you were having a nightmare,” she said, catching her breath, one hand clutched over her heart, “so I woke you up.”

He bit back the groan of pain sitting up had caused, like a hot lance through his chest, and regarded her blankly. One small blast of ki, one careless fist flung into her while he was semi-conscious, could have done so much damage. She was damned lucky she had been able to dodge his flailing limbs. “Are you suicidal?” he yelled, finding his voice.

“Like you’re one to talk!” she hollered back, her face instantly ablaze with anger. “You had me so worried! I _told you_ that you were in no condition to train, but do you ever listen to reason? Noooo.”

“Is that why you drugged me into complacency against my will this time around?” he seethed. The IV had been removed from him, and his stomach clenched with stress as he wondered how many days had passed since his last lucid moment.

“Against your will?” she said incredulously. “You were on death’s door, you had no will! You took a huge hit to your chest, which still hadn’t healed from last time. You cracked your sternum, a few more ribs, punctured a lung. And the gravity level was so high, it just kept bearing down on you…” She trailed off and shuddered at the memory. “If you had even moved the wrong way, you would have collapsed a lung or deepened the fracture, you big dummy!”

“It is nothing I haven’t faced before, Earthling,” he growled.

“We don’t have regeneration tanks here,” she hissed. “I know you heal at a remarkable rate, but you aren’t invincible. You were literally _dying_ .”

He tossed aside the thin hospital blanket in disgust, and swung his legs around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. His entire chest was wound tightly with fresh, white bindings to help brace and support his rib cage. Other than that, he was only wearing a pair of black boxers, and he looked down at this bare legs, one thigh crisscrossed with stitches, the other wrapped from knee to ankle in thick gauze. He didn’t care. He was determined to stand and walk the hell out of there, but the woman sprung back into action.

“Absolutely not!” she yelled, exasperated. She planted herself in front of him and dared to press a hand on one shoulder in a laughable effort to restrain him. “You are going to kill yourself before the androids even get here.”

Vegeta considered pushing through her, even outright throttling her for a second, but was struck by the effect her touch had him, that cool, soothing energy she seemed to exude. He stilled, closing his eyes, suddenly exhausted with all of this. “I know what I am doing, woman,” he stated tiredly. “Stop your incessant and misguided pestering. I will still be here for you to use as weapon against the androids when they arrive, and I will destroy them, alone.”

He felt a sharp shift in her ki, and he opened his eyes to find that she had leaned in a bit closer. Her face was still flushed red but her expression was softer, no longer an angry mask of hellfire.

“Is that what you think you are to me?” she asked gently. “A weapon to use?”

“Of course,” he snorted. The pain and fatigue were making it difficult to sit up, but he was loathe to show it and he wished she would just go away.

“I’m helping you because I care about you, not because I want a cannon to shoot when a crisis appears. You demanded facilities to train and volunteered to fight the androids, I never asked.”

“And _I_ never asked for your help,” he said quietly, uncomfortably aware of how she was standing between his knees with her palm still spread out flat against his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to ask. Friends and family stick together here, we take care of one another.”

“Tch. I have neither, and it’s just as well.”

“You _do_ have a friend,” she said cheerfully, standing up straight to preen, her hand finally leaving him. “A beautiful Earthling who’s a genius to boot.”

“Lucky me,” he quipped, starting to shift in the bed so he could get up without knocking her over.

“Two days!” she said frantically, moving to block him again and nearly falling into his lap. She steadied herself with one hand on his knee, her face inches from his. “Rest for two more days, please? I can’t handle seeing you in that state again so soon. Hear me out, okay?”

At this proximity, there was a heat between them that Vegeta had never experienced before. He tried to muster the energy to protest but her blue eyes were so troubled, so distraught at the idea of him coming to any further harm that it boggled his mind. _I care about you._ He wanted to shake her and ask her why, why the hell did she care about a broken monster like himself?

“I’ve sent Gohan to pick up some Senzu beans,” she continued, apparently taking his muteness for acquiescence. “He will be here with as many as he can get, but it will take him two days,” she said, slowly easing back from him but no doubt ready to pounce once more if he so much as twitched a muscle. “I know you Saiyans gain a great boost to your power levels whenever you come close to death,” she continued, “and I am not naïve enough to believe that you aren’t going to push yourself to that brink again. So I’m keeping a stash of Senzu beans on hand for those occasions, which will give me some peace of mind _and_ keep you out of this hospital bed.”

It was brilliant. The beans worked within seconds, making them far superior to even the technology of the regeneration tanks. “That is…acceptable,” he sighed.

She smiled brightly, her entire countenance lighting up. “Good! I’ll let you rest now, I have a lot of work to catch up on, but I’ll be by in a little bit with a proper meal for you, okay?”

He grunted noncommittally as she prepared to leave, and just as she was about to cross the threshold she stopped at the doorway and turned to him with a stern look, pointing two fingers at her eyes and then at him to indicate she would be keeping tabs on him. “Two. Days.”


	3. Just This Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta vs Absinthe.
> 
> Also a lesson in trust.

Vegeta tracked the minute ki of the woman through the common living quarters of Capsule Corp, completely overcome by his dour mood. It did not improve once he found her, curled up on an overstuffed leather couch around a small glass that reeked of booze. Though the room was only lit by a dim lamp, it was obvious that her eyes were bloodshot and her face puffy from crying.

“What the actual hell, woman?” he ground out.

“I broke up with Yamcha,” she confessed miserably, knocking back the rest of her drink.

“So it’s a celebration, then,” he said sarcastically.

“Asshole,” she snorted, but a smile pricked at the corners of her mouth despite herself. “Okay, let me guess,” she said, sighing. “You broke something and need it repaired immediately.”

“Yes,” he answered curtly. “The circuits on the…”

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly, cutting him off.

“What?” His expression darkened as his frustration rose. If she didn’t start until tomorrow, he would lose most of the day.

“I’m not doing anything tonight, Vegeta, I’m not a machine,” she said softly. “I need some time.”

“To get drunk and wallow in self pity?”

She sulked. “Maybe. For the moment, anyways.”

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” he nearly shouted.

“Join me?”

Her voice was so small that he almost hadn’t heard it. “No,” he replied automatically, caught completely off guard.

“Have you ever been drunk before?” she asked curiously.

“Very rarely, but yes.”

“Join me, then.”

“As if your Earth swill would have any effect on me,” he scoffed.

She looked up at him mischievously. “Well, if it’s something a bit more otherworldly you are looking for, this may do the trick,” she said, getting up to root around the liquor cabinet, her night shorts hugging the curves of her ass indecently as she bent over. She produced a bottle and presented it to him proudly. “It’s called Absinthe. I know you have a fast metabolism, but I bet after a bottle of this you won’t be able to walk straight.”

He looked at the glowing green liquid dubiously. “I highly doubt that. Too bad we’ll never find out.”

“Oh come on, Vegeta,” she said dramatically, drawing out his name childishly. “Can’t we just sit and have a drink and chat like regular people, just this once? I could really use some company tonight.”

He almost barked out a laugh at that. No one in their right mind would turn to him for company, especially in such a vulnerable state, but this was Bulma. Impressive intellect aside, she had never had the sense to keep her distance from him, no matter how hard he’d tried to push her away.

“If you finish this and can still walk a straight line, I’ll throw in a new battle droid to sweeten the deal,” she said, tilting the bottle towards him tauntingly and smiling.

She knew that if he wasn’t at least considering her offer, he would’ve already been gone. That he had become so familiar to her irked him. Damn her.

“Fine,” he snapped, taking the bottle and sitting sullenly on the opposite side of the couch. He cracked the seal and almost winced; if the scent was any indication of the taste, he didn’t have high hopes for this stuff. He poured some into the rocks glass that Bulma eagerly provided, and grimaced at the first bittersweet assault on his taste buds. “This is,” he said frankly, “absolutely revolting.”

That set her into a brief fit of laughter for reasons he couldn’t grasp. He scowled and drained his glass, deeply regretting rising to her idiotic bet. He doubled down anyways, pouring another glass and resolving to get through this awful Earth liquor as quickly as possible, show her that he was still in complete control of his body, and gain a new battle droid to train with in the process.

“Cheers,” she said, holding her glass out to him.

He eyed it suspiciously. “Why is yours different?” he asked.

“Absinthe is a bit too exotic for me, so I tend to stick to scotch. You’re supposed to touch your glass to mine.”

Vegeta looked at her quizzically.

“It’s an Earth custom. You clink glasses and say ‘cheers’, then take a drink,” she said. “It’s a friendly gesture between people who are sharing alcohol.”

“Ah, like bahkorat,” he mumbled to himself.

“Bah-korat?” she repeated carefully.

He smirked, slightly amused by how her accent handled the foreign word. “Informal truce between comrades in arms,” he said. “Before anyone in the group partakes, they hold out their drinks like this…” He held his own glass slightly away from him at about chest level, his index finger pointing up, to demonstrate. “Then they all say 'bahkorat’, as a show of good faith that no violence will be done within that group while they are intoxicated.”

“I assume you are safe within your group of friends or allies or whatever, but anyone else around isn’t part of the truce unless they also say it when coming up to you. That’s why you very rarely got drunk,” she deduced.

He grinned wolfishly as he recalled him and Raditz being banned from every official drinking establishment in one quadrant by the time he was sixteen after a legendary bar fight that had leveled half a city. “Indeed.”

“Well in that case, bahkorat!” she said enthusiastically, raising her glass and lifting her finger the way he had shown her.

“Tch, I wasn’t worried about you,” he snarked, but reciprocated in kind.

“You trust me.”

“You pose no threat to me would be more accurate,” he corrected.

“Oh please,” she said. “I could have killed you just as many times as you could have killed me since you’ve been living here, and you know it. I don’t have to be able to overpower you physically. Hell, I could have let you die a few times over when you mortally wounded yourself training, just by doing nothing.”

He opened his mouth to counter her, but she had a point. The first couple of months he’d been on Earth, he had been very wary of everything; the people, his food, his drinks, his quarters, even his gravity room. Gradually, he had let his guard down and stopped existing in survival mode, which allowed him to focus better on his training and rest properly. On the other hand, he had let himself be lulled by the security and current peacefulness of this planet, something that would have disgusted Frieza Force era Vegeta.

“It’s okay, I trust you, too,” she said, almost shyly. She smiled at him, a genuine, kind smile that suddenly made him feel so out of his depth that he focused intently on refilling his strange green drink and gulping it, unable to meet her eyes directly.

She remained blessedly quiet for once, getting lost in her own thoughts as she slowly sipped her scotch.

 _I trust you, too._ He had done little to warrant her trust, but then again, as much as she seemed to nag him, in reality she had asked for very little. Don’t blow up the planet, don’t kill anyone, don’t harm anyone unless it’s in defense. It was essentially the opposite of everything he had been raised and trained to do, but when he reflected on it now, that had been the easiest adjustment for him to make on Earth. He could have done _anything_ he wanted to the planet and the people on it, especially when Kakarot was gone. For the first time he’d had his own choices to make, and though they had admittedly been purely selfish, a rebellion of sorts after a lifetime of obeying the commands of a cruel master, he had taken a different path.

He snuck a side-long glance at Bulma. She was staring off into space, no doubt contemplating her own problems, but their silence was a comfortable one. Vegeta fell into the warm, melancholy embrace of the alcohol, and by the time half the bottle was empty, the pressing weight of the destiny foisted upon his shoulders by his long-dead kin was lighter, his failures far enough afield that he could let go of them for the moment. His body tingled, the tension in his muscles slowly seeping away, and he let himself relax in the safe haven of her living room.

“What’s wrong with me, Vegeta?” she asked with a slight slur, as if she’d been waiting all this time to build up the courage to speak.

“Your sense of self-preservation is appalling,” he offered, abandoning his glass and taking a long pull of Absinthe directly from the bottle.

“No, no,” she said, her brow creased and waving a hand dismissively, as if that was common knowledge. “I mean, you know, as a woman.”

He grumbled as he watched her dribble the last bit of scotch from the bottle into her glass. “Why are you wasting your time, and mine, I might add, moping over such a fool? It was his loss, not yours. That much is obvious.” 

“I caught him with someone else, so I _obviously_ wasn’t good enough.”

He polished off the last of the Absinthe, finally, wondering if he would ever be able to taste anything else besides that foul liquid again. Still seated, he reclined slightly and his head lolled back on the couch and he smiled sardonically at the ceiling. “He hurt your pride. That’s what this is really about. You don’t even want him back, do you?”

“What is it with you and pride?” she asked sharply, sounding offended.

He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the softness of the cushions a little more. “It is the only thing I have left that is mine, and mine alone, tattered as it may be. It was the only thing that they couldn’t take away from me.”

If she replied, he hadn’t heard. He drifted off into a blissfully dreamless sleep, waking the next morning still on the couch, alone, with a blanket draped over him.

They never did find out if he could walk a straight line after a bottle of Absinthe, but she had made him the new battle droid anyways.


	4. Heavy Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta is shaken to discover a protective streak in him regarding Bulma.

Hundreds of feet below him, the streetlamps and lights shining from the windows of buildings and homes clearly mapped out West City in the darkness. After about a year in the same place it had all become familiar, and when the sprawling estate of Capsule Corp came into view on the outskirts of the city, it felt dangerously close to a homecoming.

The grounds were lit up in a garish display, at least the east side where all of their entertaining took place. The living quarters and bedrooms that he and the Briefs' used were in the west wing, and the ship and gravity chamber were tucked neatly away around back, out of view from prying eyes. Even so, the noise from the gathering taking place would not escape his superior hearing, and he resigned himself to sleeping on the cot in the soundproofed spaceship. He'd been somewhat prepared for that eventuality; Bulma had given him fair warning that it was her father's 60th birthday party, and that it would be a huge affair likely run late into the evening.

He wasn't really surprised that the party was still in full swing at this hour, though he'd held out a thin hope that it might be over by the time he got back. Dr Briefs was, after all, a king among the men of this planet, as weak and bumbling as the scientist was. His intelligence, business sense and ingenious inventions were what set him apart here, affording him the money and power a warrior king on his misbegotten planet would have amassed through strength and battle prowess. This was his castle, and the closest thing the Earth would see to a proper royal banquet. 

Vegeta alighted on the roof, staying well within the shadows beyond the gaudy lighting all over the courtyard, and listened to the end of the speech Dr Briefs was giving on stage. He was praising his daughter for all of her contributions to their company over the past few years, and announced his semi-retirement so that Bulma could step in on a greater capacity. There was a loud rush of applause, and a spotlight found her in the crowd, looking gorgeous in a strapless blue dress. She smiled graciously and gave a little bow, confident and proud.

The corner of his lip twitched up. By his own analogy, if this was her father's royal banquet, he'd just witnessed her informal coronation. He rolled his eyes. She was even wearing a subtle silver tiara in her hair. 

The spotlight left her and music started up, assaulting his ears. He looked on in morbid curiosity, scanning the horde of self-important people. He had never seen so many humans gathered in one area before, and his nose crinkled slightly in distaste. To be fair, he loathed crowds of any species, but the way these people drank, danced and carried on in total oblivion to the threat that would be on their doorsteps in a couple of years was an affront to his sensibilities. He'd had enough of this spectacle. 

Vegeta had spent the better part of the day a good distance from here, on a cliffside by the ocean. It had been a refreshing change of pace from the sometimes claustrophobic gravity chamber, and despite not being as physically challenging, he'd worked extensively on ki control and energy attacks, which were arguably more draining.

At sunset, he'd plunged into the ocean. The waves and currents had held no pull over his immense strength, and he had swam easily for an hour or so before rolling onto his back, floating and watching the stars. No threats existed here yet that could overwhelm him from the skies above or the depths below, and he'd felt _free_. Truly free for the first time. For all the doubts and self-hatred he'd showered upon himself in the past months as he had struggled to figure out what the hell he was doing, he realized now that uncertainty was a part of freedom, too, just not one he had anticipated while still enslaved.

He turned his back on the revelers and began to cross the expansive roof, heading towards the west side. All he wanted to do was hop down to the ship, shower the grit and scent of sea salt away, and get some sleep in relative peace.

“Bulma!” he heard a male voice call loudly, making Vegeta pause. “Hey, Bulma, wait up,” he called again, sounding somewhat intoxicated.

Her voice fluttered up from ground level somewhere behind him as she mumbled a greeting, and he realized that this interaction was taking place apart from the main gathering. The music had switched to something more subdued and melodic, and Vegeta could hear their conversation well enough to know that the man was showering her with compliments. He scowled and kept walking when it was followed by her embarrassed tittering, until her voice rang out again a few minutes later.

“I said that's _enough_!” 

Vegeta was familiar enough with that tone to know she was pissed, but he didn't think it was his place to interfere. Or care, quite frankly, but here he was, listening intently to their scuffle to gauge how serious things might be. His brief internal debate was put to rest the instant he heard her cry out. He was on the ground in the vicinity of her ki signature so quickly that he surprised even himself, as if he'd somehow figured out Instant Transmission without knowing it.

“You ripped my dress, you creep!” she yelled furiously, pushing away a man twice her size.

They were on a dimly lit stone pathway leading to the side entrance of the east wing, Bulma against a brick wall and the tipsy idiot accosting her having stumbled back a few steps. Vegeta was several feet away on the lawn to the side of the path, cloaked completely by the night, ready to step in and end this human if he touched her again.

Bulma inspected the tear in her dress, a small hole along the hem at her waist where the bodice and flowing skirts met.

“What a bitch,” the man spat, reaching for her aggressively, “can't you take a compliment?”

“Seriously?” she snarled, her face a mask of fury as she cocked a fist back and smashed it directly up and into his nose.

Vegeta heard the crack from where he was standing and smiled viciously, a tiny tendril of pride at her feistiness curling through his chest.

“My nose!” the human howled, tears and blood running down his face, staggering backwards down the path a few paces. “I'll sue you, you shrew!” 

Bulma advanced on him and stuck a finger out at his chest. “Just you try it, buddy! Who do you think you're talking to? I could ruin you with _one phone call_. If I even hear a peep out of you I'll have my legal team so far up your ass you'll need a colonoscopy to find them. Now get the hell off of my property!”

The man cursed loudly but turned like the coward he was, stomping down the path towards Vegeta with his hand held over his broken nose, completely unaware. He stopped a few feet away from the Saiyan, as if deciding whether or not to turn around and offer some final insult or rebuttal. Vegeta lost his patience. 

He charged up a small point of ki on his index finger, finally catching the idiot's attention off to the side in the dark, and shot it at his feet with enough velocity that it sounded like a bullet. The man scrambled back and stared, wide-eyed, at Vegeta.

“Keep going,” he threatened quietly, his voice dripping with murderous intent and sending the moron scampering away at last. 

“Vegeta?” Bulma asked breathlessly.

He grunted in acknowledgment and approached her on the path. Vegeta had always been aware that she held the same kind of influence as her father, and not just by birth, but through her own drive and hard work. She wouldn't have killed that man, but she could have torn his world asunder in an instant just the same. It was so much more relatable, however, seeing her like this, still panting with rage and exertion, chest heaving, jaw set, eyes ablaze and the blood of her enemy smeared on her fist. 

“How long have you been standing there?” she demanded angrily.

“Long enough to see that my assistance was not required,” he answered. 

She crossed her arms over herself and looked away, obviously struggling to hold back tears.

“Are you harmed?” 

She let out some startling combination of a laugh and a sob. “My hand really hurts.”

Vegeta grumbled and offered her his open hand in resignation, and just like that, with no hesitation on her part, he found himself cradling her swollen fist. The crazy woman trusted a leviathan wholeheartedly after being snapped at by a mere dog. 

“Do you need some more light? Do you think it's broken?” she asked, her voice jittery and her body shaking as the adrenaline began to subside.

“I can see well enough in the dark.” Her middle knuckles were very red and inflamed, and she let loose a stream of expletives when he asked her to open and close her fist, but nothing looked or felt out of place. “It's not broken,” he concluded, giving the back of her hand one final sweep with the pad of his thumb. “You know, I was on the cusp of having some respect for you for a second there, but I can't abide by the fact that you are so frail that punching someone almost shattered your bones.”

She pulled her hand back quickly, no doubt gearing up to give him shit, but stopped and watched his face, her brow crinkled. She must have seen the smirk that had come and gone almost instantaneously, because she looked at him suspiciously. 

“Are you...teasing me?” she asked.

“Perhaps. Or maybe I find it a tragic joke that such a fighting spirit is trapped in a body of glass.”

“Ah, the classic compliment wrapped in an insult,” she snipped, but a smile was forming on her face. “It's better than what I usually get, I suppose. So, what do you need, Vegeta?”

“Nothing,” he answered, confused.

“That's a first,” she scoffed.

He looked down at the ground silently. She had probably meant it as flippant sarcasm, but it was a valid observation. 

“Wait, really?” she asked. “You only came to see if I needed help?”

“Shouldn't you be at the party?” he asked irritably. 

“I _should_ , as a matter of fact, but I was bringing this in,” she said. She gestured to an abandoned two-wheel moving dolly stacked high with stainless steel coolers by the side door. “For you, actually. I made sure to save you the good stuff,” she winked.

The spotlight had literally just been on her and she'd been officially named the successor to her father's empire, yet in all that chaos, she had thought of him. Packed up food for him like a servant and had been on her way to deliver it to the main kitchen personally. “Why would you do that?” The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. “And you put yourself in danger, needlessly.”

Her smile faltered. “I don't know why it always shocks you that I enjoy doing nice things for my friends, or that I consider you one of them. Regardless, there should have never been any danger to begin with. It makes me so mad, the nerve of that guy, _at my own house_!” she ranted, her voice raising. “Just because we went on a few dates while Yamcha and I were on a break, he thinks he can just saunter over and I'll throw myself at his feet. Nothing even happened between us then, we never really clicked and I fell for Yamcha's stupid line that he'd change his whoring ways and went back to _him_. Ugh, men!”

Vegeta had only met a handful, but he had observed many people from afar as he'd attempted to adjust to coexistence, and he had yet to be impressed. The very thought of weakling human males pawing at her suddenly disgusted him. “These Earth men, they are unworthy of you,” he agreed.

Bulma laughed sadly. “Yeah, so where does that leave me? Alone. Forever.” She quirked a blue brow and eyed him playfully. “Unless you're volunteering yourself, spaceman.”

“I am the least deserving of them all,” he muttered in a rare moment of outward self-deprecation. 

“I think I might be a better judge of that,” she said, taking a step closer. 

She was challenging him, and he stood his ground while she played her game, trying to remain expressionless as the fingers of her uninjured hand curled around one of his wrists. Her eyes sparkled almost as much as her tiara in the moonlight, an ethereal beauty toying with him. 

“Have you ever kissed an Earthling?” she asked, her face entirely too near to his.

“Of course not,” he growled, glaring, trying to intimidate her from her current course. “Most races don't have such ridiculous customs.”

“Did Saiyans?” she asked softly, staring at his lips.

His chest tightened uneasily. “I...I don't remember.”

The admission broke a dam somewhere inside of him, that portion of himself he'd buried long ago that recognized the vast likelihood that he would never find a suitable mate of any species, let alone his own. He had never been in a secure enough position to seriously consider it, anyways, and who would've had him? Another monster as vicious as he, that was not intimidated by the reputation he'd left behind in the cosmos? 

“Would you like to try it?” she whispered.

Her delicate fingers around his wrist may have well been a vice. He could not bring himself to pull away, not in this moment of weakness when his loneliness threatened to sweep him away like the wind, or when her grip seemed to be the only thing grounding him. She leaned in boldly, and he could hear her heartbeat quicken frantically, not in terror as it should be, but excitement. 

Oh gods, she was serious; insane, but serious. He felt his own pulse kick up several paces and froze in uncertainty. She stopped just before making contact, so close he could feel her breath across his lips, her gaze full of a longing that he'd never seen directed at him before. It wasn't until her cheeks blushed pink with embarrassment, and disappointment flitted across her eyes that he realized she had been waiting for him to close the gap, unwilling to risk crossing that line if her affections were unwanted.

He wasn't sure what he wanted. Or, more truthfully, he had a hard time _believing_ what his body and heart tried to convince his mind; that he did not want to disappoint her, or leave her presence just yet, or have this encounter end in such a mutually unsatisfying way. So when she released his wrist to turn away, he rocked forward lightly, pressing his mouth mechanically against hers before pulling back once more with a guarded look. 

He was still trying to figure out what the whole purpose of such a ritual even was when Bulma's face lit up in a shocked but stunning smile. She leaned forward again, this time her hand reaching for his face. He watched it's approach tensely, allowing it but still instinctively flinching ever so slightly as her fingertips made contact with the curve of his jaw. Her eyes closed as she kissed him, and he marveled at how she could look so content right now, so calm and vulnerable, with _him_ of all people.

Bulma's thumb stroked his cheek lightly, her fingers cupping his face a bit more firmly as she planted another insistent kiss upon his lips, and her injured hand gingerly guided one of his to her hip, trying to get him to engage, to relax. He thought back to earlier in the night, when he had drifted afloat in the ocean, suspended between the heavens and the earth and felt free, secure even, and let himself focus on the sensation of her, here with him.

Her lips seemed to cushion his own perfectly, and his mouth ceded to hers as they shifted and explored different angles, the soft friction between them igniting a heat in Vegeta's chest. His earlier anxiety over having his face touched melted away with each caress, her hand slowly sliding back to grip his neck and give herself leverage to bring her body flush against his. He broke their kiss with a small gasp, and she panted lightly for air against his throat to catch her breath. Having her pressed to him was almost overwhelming, her tiny ki somehow seeming to envelope his own, electrifying and soothing all at once. It sent a shiver of pleasure from his lower back up his spine, which Bulma must have misinterpreted because she started to shift her weight away from him.

His vocabulary seemingly lost, he instead tightened his grip where she had placed his hand on her hip. Gently, painfully gently, he brought his other hand up to her temple, stroking his fingers through her fine, silky hair before claiming her parted lips once more. Emboldened by his actions, Bulma succeeded where the pull of the oceans had not; he was drowning in her vibrant current, pulled under a little more with her every moan, each suckle to his bottom lip. He heard fabric tearing, ashamed to realize that he'd unconsciously fisted the material of her satin skirts roughly, extending the split hem dramatically. 

“Don't worry,” she said huskily as he released it hastily. “If I didn't have to get cleaned up and go back to the party, I'd let you rip it right off of me.”


	5. Guilty Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get hot and heavy in the Gravity Room.
> 
> Obvious metaphor is obvious/Vegeta is the GR

The cool, night breeze ruffled the coarse spikes of Vegeta's hair, banishing any remaining dampness from his unruly mane. Dressed comfortably for the evening in grey track pants and a blue Capsule Corp t-shirt, his muscles limber from an almost scalding hot shower, and his belly full to Saiyan standards, he was damned near content. The full moon hung heavily in the sky, and though it no longer held any sway over him, the moonlight still sang to something primal in his blood. He gripped the iron railing of his balcony, staring up at the constellations and knowing, deep down, that the answer to his transformation into the Legendary was somewhere out there among the stars, not here on Earth.

Despite his daily frustrations of not attaining the golden aura, he was reluctant to leave. Partly it was because he was becoming accustomed to this way of life; relative safety, ample food, shelter, freedom, and just about any resource he might require at his disposal. He also wanted to keep tabs on Kakarot and his progression now and again, at a distance, of course.

Then there was her. _Bulma_. The woman haunted his thoughts no matter how he tried to push her out of his mind.

Even now, he could sense that she was not in her lab tying up the days loose ends as she would usually be at this hour, but in the gravity room. That piqued his interest. He hadn't requested any repairs or additions, so what was she up to? Past experience from his old life made him immediately suspect sabotage, but he dismissed it almost as quickly. She had done nothing since he had arrived that held even a whisper of betrayal.

Giving in to his curiosity, he cleared the balcony railing, landing barefoot onto the plush turf below. A tendril of anxiety twisted through his gut as he neared the domed structure. It would seem that the idea of confronting Bulma alone in a space so personal to him made him nervous, but in a benign sort of way that was new to him.

The memory of kissing her hit him full force, as it had from time to time over the past few weeks. A simple act that had changed nothing and everything at once. Their daily routines had continued, separate but intersecting periodically, as always, but there was an additional layer of intensity between their interactions. Apparently kissing initiated courtship between human couples, and he struggled internally with what that meant for him. At times he was disgusted at his own weakness and felt that she had tricked him into it, while at others he wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of her body against his and to sink into the comforting presence of her ki.

In a sense, he had been traveling down this road regardless, but so fractionally that it had taken her kissing him to make him realize it. He cared for her, and not just as a means to an ends, but as a person, and had for quite some time. There was no use denying it to himself after he had felt so compelled to help her when that idiot human tried to force himself on her at the party. Just the thought of it stirred up a protective and possessive resolve within him, and that was really the crux of his inner strife.

Saiyans did not have a strong protective instinct outside of their own immediate families, and even then it was limited. Working class Saiyans tended to raise all offspring until they were old enough to train, while the warrior class didn't usually acknowledge their own bloodlines until those children showed enough promise to be elevated into the warrior caste themselves. Only then would they begin to nurture and bond with their kids, and teach them the unique attacks passed on within their family line. Among life mates, a telepathic pair-bond often developed that allowed the couple to stay in tune with one another through the long absences typical of the Saiyan lifestyle. Sensing the distress of their mate or offspring could trigger a protective response, or even a berserker rage, but beyond that, the Saiyan edict was that the strong survived and the weak were either banished outright or perished.

True pair-bonding between mates had been highly discouraged among the fighters under Frieza's rule, and in hindsight, Vegeta could see how Frieza had turned the Saiyan's own culture against them to make it seem shameful for a warrior to have an intimate metaphysical bond with another. In reality, Frieza had just needed ruthless soldiers that were unquestioningly loyal to him and only him. He'd already been afraid of the physical strength that the Saiyans might achieve, so hearing of possible telepathic abilities between his subjects would have no doubt infuriated him and left him paranoid. Worst of all, Vegeta's people had fallen for it and perpetuated it. _He_ had perpetuated it, despite having been briefly part of the relatively tight-knit royal family.

It had been so ingrained in him that emotional ties were made to be crushed, to be used against lesser beings to inflict trauma and seize control. It was impossible to count how many times he had seen that heart wrenching scenario play out, and his stomach knotted itself almost painfully. He couldn't imagine purposefully putting himself in that position, yet here he was. What the fuck was he doing, leaning against the door of his gravity chamber and having some kind of emotional crisis over an Earth woman?

Anger rolled through him like the rumble in his chest, squashing his nerves. Anger was familiar and easy for him to command, so he clung to it like a shield and pushed the door open. Inside, he was greeted by the utter chaos that Bulma had his main training area in. Metal panels were off of walls, exposing their innards, tools were strewn all over the floor along with rotor blades, fan belts, electrical cords, welding materials, laptops and all manner of debris he couldn't place in the confusion. The central energy core of the control panel was exposed and emitting a startling amount of heat, it's soft red glow the only light source.

A pair of work boots and the legs of thick canvas pants protruded from under the control panel. She was lying on her back, everything from her knees up consumed beneath the red heart of the machine. He reached his boiling point, surveying the disaster that was his usual sanctum. He demanded to know what she thought she was doing ripping apart half the room without any warning, and ranted about the time he would lose training while she put it back together again for good measure.

The electrical hum of the core was his only reply.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Vegeta spat, stomping over to her feet.

"Woman?"

Not only was there no response, what he could see of her hadn't moved a muscle, either. He crouched down to look under the gap, concern seeping in around the edges of his anger when he saw her still and prone. The full canvas jumpsuit and face guard made it impossible for him to tell if she was injured, but she did not appear to be crushed or trapped in any way.

"Bulma?"

He tapped her shin lightly, making her body jerk. The small spotlight by her head swiveled towards him, and she gave him a thumbs up. He stood quickly, crossing his arms and pointedly ignoring the relief he felt. A few moments later she rolled out from under the central control and removed the mask. One cheek and her nose was smudged with black, her hair framed her face in total disarray, and sweat plastered her bangs along her forehead at odd angles.

"Hey," she greeted. "Sorry if you were calling me, the hum is really loud under there. This was supposed to be a surprise, but I'm actually really glad you're here," she said with a broad smile. "I don't think I could have kept this to myself for very long."

"Good, I hate surprises," he replied, keeping an edge to his voice.

She beamed with pride and wiped her brow with an oversized sleeve. "I figured out a way to push this thing to 500GR without it imploding."

A feral grin spread across Vegeta's lips, his earlier outburst of anger dissolving. The extra weight of another 50GR would prove a worthy challenge. As it was, the chamber could barely handle 450GR and only for short periods of time. "Impressive," he admitted, watching her preen under his praise. "But how long will it be out of commission?"

She considered as she ran her fingers through her wet hair and confined it to a haphazard bun. "I plan on working through the night, so it should be ready for you by morning. I have the clean up crew on standby," she said, gesturing with a nod to a row of cleaning droids waiting to be activated. "They'll speed everything up."

Bulma's thick, leather work gloves flopped down to the floor and she looked him dead in the eye as she began to unzip her shapeless jumper. "There is something I need some help with, though, if you are up to it."

All rational thought left him as she uttered the double entendre, and he followed the descent of those tiny metal teeth as they separated, exposing her slender torso from where her chest was bound in a black sports bra all the way down to her bare navel. Slinging it off of her shoulders and freeing her arms with a sigh, she kicked off her boots.

"So, to be on the safe side," she went on casually, "I was hoping you could do some training over the next few days at 450GR, for however long you like, and I'll double check my numbers against the performance reports. If I'm right, and I usually am," she said, letting the heavy jumpsuit fall completely to her ankles and revealing matching bike shorts, "the upgraded power core and new ventilation system I'm installing will handle the 500GR with no problem."

"Anything else I should know?" Vegeta asked, composing himself and hating the way she could twist his mood so easily.

"Nothing major. I fixed that horrible static noise on the intercom and Camera Three wasn't transmitting to the monitor in my lab, it needed some new wiring. I swear you fry them on purpose so I can't check on you."

"Tch. There is no need to _spy_ on me, you shouldn't have even wasted your time with that."

"How else would I be able to yell at you and know when to bring you a Senzu bean?" she teased. "Actually, come to think of it, you nearly kill yourself at least once every time I increase the capacity in here, so now I'll have to take even more time out of my busy schedule to make sure that you're still alive."

Her skin was slick with sweat and the power core illuminated her in crimson, contrasting the stark, long shadows surrounding her. She looked surreal, like the vision of a blood goddess after vanquishing her enemies, and his fingers twitched at his side with the urge to touch her.

"You make it sound like a chore," he said, voice low. "Watching me…"

Bulma smiled coyly. "Well, I wouldn't say it's the worst part of my day, unless I actually do find you half dead."

He took a step towards her, his nostrils flaring slightly as he took in her scent and stared in open appreciation of her figure.

She noticed, and glanced down at her herself in horror, crossing one arm awkwardly over her tightly bound breasts. "Oh, Kami, I'm a mess! I wasn't exactly expecting company," she babbled. "I'm done with the core, so I can get the fans going and turn the generator back on, and I have a change of clothes around here somewhere…"

She looked at the bedlam around her helplessly and grabbed the canvas jumper at her feet to hide behind, and Vegeta felt it was ironic that her skimpy state of dress was actually appropriate to the situation for once, but it was now that she chose to be inexplicably modest. Before she could blink Vegeta closed the distance between them. Grasping her wrist, he held it out to the side so that the jumper hung suspended from her hand and away from them like an insult. She squirmed uncomfortably, trying to back away but unable to budge.

"What game are you playing at with me?" Vegeta demanded. "You parade yourself around in just as much regularly, flirt with me, put your hands on me, kiss me even, and suddenly you are shy and trying to get away?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "Have you finally come to your senses, then?"

"What?" she responded, genuinely confused. "No, I haven't changed my mind if that's what you're asking, I just feel gross. I'm covered in sweat and grime, my hair is disgusting, what I'm wearing is not flattering at all, and I can only imagine how awful I must smell to your nose…" she rambled, clearly mortified.

So she was still crazy enough to want him, but assumed he would be unimpressed by her in this state. "Do you really think I'm so delicate that I would pay any mind to that? And your scent has never offended me. Your mouth on the other hand…" he drawled, using his thumb to wipe away the smudge of grease from her cheek.

She let the canvas jumper fall to the floor. He smirked and let go of her wrist, but her hand sought his and she carefully wove her fingers between his. They watched their hands gradually interlock, palm to palm. In a way, it was more intimate than a kiss, as palms were a major conduit for gathering and expelling ki. It was a direct line to each others energy, the connection instant, invigorating as it thrummed through Vegeta's veins. Bulma could not sense ki, but she seemed affected as well nonetheless. Her body relaxed, her embarrassment evaporated, and a smile lit up her face.

"How about you?" Bulma whispered. "Have you come to your senses?"

"I don't know," he answered, his gaze going from their hands to her eyes. "I might not have any sense left to speak of."

"I've been wanting to kiss you again so badly since the party," she said breathlessly.

"So why didn't you?" he asked, his face dipping closer to hers magnetically.

"You are a hard man to read," she answered, her free hand trailing up his bicep. "Always trying to be so stoic. I had to be sure it's what you wanted, so I've been waiting for you to come to me."

She tilted her head and parted her pink lips, accepting his kiss the same way she accepted everything else about him, boldly and without hesitation. She unclasped her hand from his so she could loop her arms loosely over his shoulders, clutching the back of his neck with one hand and twining the other through his hair. This time he felt more prepared for the press of her body against his, and didn't flinch at the first contact of her fingers across his bare flesh. Cautiously, half-convinced he was going to crush her, he folded his arms around her in a snug embrace. She hummed happily and smiled against his lips before pulling away to take a breath and rest her head on his shoulder.

"Feel free to do as you please," she purred, her mouth suddenly by his ear. He felt her tongue dart over the lobe, followed playfully by her teeth.

As his resistance slowly melted away, he felt almost guilty for wasting his energy and time in this way, in pursuit of some unknown pleasure instead of his ultimate goal. Yet his body was betraying him as much as his weakened will, if not more so. His heart was pounding as if he was going into battle, but he had instinctively powered down to the lowest level possible for her protection. She was so lithe and toned to the touch, and his hands seemed to wander her curves of their own accord, over silken skin and the soft cotton of her shorts.

When she started to kiss his throat, he tightened the hold he had on her ass involuntarily. He checked himself an instant later, but she protested his relaxing grip by squeezing him to her more aggressively and nipping at his neck. He growled and clutched her even harder than before, hoisting her up and relishing how her legs wrapped automatically around his waist. She left her own throat exposed to him, her pulse strong beneath his lips and tongue as he tasted her salty skin. She tangled her hands roughly through his hair and arched back, giving him access to the top of her chest and moaning as his kisses trailed down obligingly.

Vegeta sank gingerly to the floor, laying her out and supporting most his weight along his left forearm and elbow. This excited her even more, and she clawed at his shirt almost frantically in an attempt to pull it off. He reared up to a kneeling position, unable to keep the smirk off his face as her legs tightened around his back and refused to release him. Her pupils dilated hungrily when he removed his shirt and tossed it aside, eagerly peeling out of her black sports bra and welcoming him back to her as he lowered himself again.

Her hands reached up to caress his face and guide it to hers, and he was feeling savvy enough with all of this kissing business by now to take control and crush his lips against hers, ravishing them possessively. Then her mouth opened slightly and the tip of her tongue brushed his, and he discovered that there was a whole other type of kissing to learn about. Allowing her in a little more, literally and figuratively, he let Bulma take the lead and mimicked the wanton movements of her tongue.

Soft and supple, her breast fit perfectly in his hand, and he let her reactions guide him as he squeezed and caressed. She writhed beneath him sweetly, her palms sliding down the expanse of his scarred back, heels nudging his thighs encouragingly for him to press his rock hard length along the clothed cleft of her sex. His loosely fitted track pants felt unbearably restrictive as she rolled her hips and initiated a slow grind between them that shot a current of pleasure up his spine and through his groin. He groaned into the crook of her neck, closing his eyes to focus on the sensation.

Between the dizzying heat and her intoxicating scent, his thoughts had become muddied and single-minded in nature – to sate the lust this Earth woman had awakened in him. _His_ woman.

Vegeta's eyes snapped open at the thought, sobering to the reality of the boundaries they had just crossed, and suddenly it was too much, all so contrary to any experience he'd had with another being that he froze up. Gently, but insistently, he extricated himself from her. He sat by her legs, already missing the feel of them around his waist, one arm slung over his knee. Bulma drew herself up on her elbows, still reclined on her back, her expression half concern and half pouting child.

"What's wrong?" she panted.

He looked at her incredulously. "Do you even have to ask? _Everything_ about this is wrong."

"I don't know, it felt pretty right to me." She tilted her head and regarded him shamelessly, a sly grin on her face.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes as if staving off a migraine.

"Vegeta?"

She only said his name in that tone when she was going to ask him something that would potentially set off his temper, and usually she was right. He clenched his jaw and refused to look at her, suddenly wishing she would decide to be modest again and cover herself up with that canvas monstrosity.

"Don't be offended by my asking, but, are you a virgin?"

"What the hell is that?" he snapped.

"Someone who has never had sex before," she said delicately.

"Tch, you have a word for that here?" he scoffed. Of all the things for her to tiptoe around, this one seemed truly ridiculous. "Why would I be offended by that?"

She seemed reassured by his nonchalant attitude on the subject and shrugged. "Most men don't like to admit it, especially once they are a little older."

That comment, on the other hand, plucked an unpleasant cord with him, and he looked over at her in a huff. "Older? I haven't even grown a beard."

"Wait, how old _are_ you?" Bulma asked, alarmed.

"By your time, about thirty," he grumbled.

"Oh, good," she said, relieved.

His body was wound like a spring and practically screaming at him for any kind of release, and she wanted to ask inane questions. He had to get out of there, away from the heat and her inviting scent. He stood and scooped up his t-shirt from the floor, feeling more awkward by the second. He was in a most unacceptable state – fully aroused, flustered, blushing, sweaty, and in definite need of a second shower.

"Hey, it's okay," Bulma said, standing.

He kept his back turned to her as she approached him, but when he felt her fingertips brush unexpectedly just above his elbow, he tensed visibly.

"You aren't even used to being touched, are you?" she asked softly. "I take it for granted so much that I never really thought of that before. I'm sorry. We can take it slow if you want."

"Don't you get it?" Vegeta hissed, spinning on her. "There is no 'it'. There is no 'us'. There is no time for any of this self-indulgent nonsense, or have you forgotten that your planet is on borrowed time?"

"There will always be some crisis looming," she said calmly, unfazed, "and my friends and I will always be on the front lines to avert it. I accepted that long ago, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop living my life to the fullest."

Begrudgingly, he respected her point of view, but it changed nothing. "You know as well as I do that this can only end in disaster," he said, trying to appeal to her practicality.

"Everything ends eventually," she answered, chewing at her bottom lip and running a finger up his chest. "But think of how much fun we could have between now and then…"


	6. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta isn't ready for the emotional ties that come along with the pair-bond and physical intimacy, but he can't let go either.
> 
> (Rating changed to E for this chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So 100 years after the fact of the October smutfest, I humbly offer you the final chapter. I've been through the insanity of the Christmas work rush, family drama, leaving the country for a couple weeks and being sick about 8x since November. I'm sorry and I hope you guys enjoy!

Her footsteps whispered to a stop outside of his bedroom, her presence hovering uncertainly at the threshold without a sound. Vegeta glanced up at his closed door, waiting for Bulma to knock or otherwise announce herself, but as the seconds ticked by, he frowned, fiddling with the t-shirt in his hands. It was practically unheard of for her to disturb him in his room, and she made a point to avoid entering it unless necessary. He sensed something else behind her hesitation, however, and it made his hackles rise defensively.

He had been dreading this inevitable situation, and as inept at social interactions as he was, even he recognized it was past time that they had a conversation about whatever the hell was going on between them. He considered escaping through the balcony and taking off into the wilderness for another few days, or leaving the planet altogether. Maybe indefinitely.

The lightest of knocks reached his sensitive ears, light enough that, had he been asleep, he may not have been roused at all. He stood stock still in the relative darkness clad only in flannel sleep pants, momentarily undecided. He could avoid this intrusion by remaining silent, but just the thought of it made him feel cowardly, so he chuffed out a breath, tossed aside his shirt, and answered the door.

“What?” he bit out, more gruffly than he'd intended.

Her eyes widened, as if surprised that he had actually opened the door at all.

“May I come in?” she asked quietly, regaining her composure quickly.

Vegeta side-stepped and gestured dumbly with his hand, the irony of her asking to enter a space within her own house not lost on him.

She swept past him, the satin rustle of her pale gray robe following her until she paused in the middle of his room, framing herself in the moonlight that poured in from the glass balcony doors. The length of her robe barely reached her knees, and it was tied at her waist with a flimsy sash. His eyes followed the curves of her bare calves up to the hint of her thighs, his cheeks heating up when he caught her looking over her shoulder saucily.

Maybe she wasn't in the mood to talk after all. He smirked and slowly stalked up behind her, savoring her shiver and the way her skin broke out in goosebumps as his lips made contact with the nape of her neck.

“I'm glad you're back,” she said, tilting her head for him.

He chuckled darkly. “No one's ever said that to me before,” he rumbled against her throat, arms circling her waist. “Why would you?”

“Let's just say I've had some very _restless_ nights while you've been out blowing up mountains or whatever,” she replied, leaning back into him.

The robe was cool and silky along his naked chest, and he held back a groan when her ass pressed into his groin. His hands slid up along the satin, his fingers gently teasing her nipples through the fabric before cupping each breast firmly and nibbling her earlobe. She untied the sash and rolled her shoulders, and together they swept the robe aside, allowing it to pool on the floor between their feet. She was wearing nothing under it, save for a blue scrap of lace that could hardly be classified as a garment.

“Take me to bed,” she requested in a whisper.

It had been over a month since their heated encounter in the gravity room, but it had not been their last. Their secretive trysts took place in all manner of odd sites around the compound, but their bedrooms had remained their own private sanctums up until now. Mindful of his inexperience and reservations regarding intimacy, Bulma most often waited until he sought her out; this was the most forward she had been with him in weeks.

Scooping her up effortlessly, he found himself unable to deny her, regardless of how disconcerting the visual of her laying in his bed might be. By now he had seen her in various states of undress, but this was the most bared to him that she had ever been all at once, beautiful and radiant in the moonlight. Her arms beckoned to him, and he settled his weight on one elbow at her side, their legs tangling together as he eased himself partially atop of her. Welcomed immediately into her embrace, he felt her hands roaming the scarred planes of his shoulders and back.

Emboldened now that he was more accustomed to her closeness and touch, he lowered his face to hers for a searing kiss. His free hand went to her thigh, flattening out so that his palm moved up in a languid caress along the curve of her hip, then over her stomach to between her breasts, stopping there to feel the pounding of her heart directly beneath. He could sense her ki, weak in terms of strength but somehow surging with so much vitality it hardly seemed possible that she should be able to contain it.

Lips parting as their breathing became labored, Bulma switched her focus to pepper kisses down his jawline and beyond. When he felt the delicious pinch of her teeth by his jugular, his mind chose that exact moment to recall the last time his throat had been at the mercy of another creature's maw. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and perhaps it had been, really, as he _had_ died between then and now. His old self, sputtering back into consciousness in a regeneration tank, would have never understood the reckless allowances he made for this Earthling.

“Vegeta,” she moaned longingly, snapping him back to the present. “I want you so bad, I'm going crazy.”

Bulma's hands dipped down into his pants, her thumbs brushing over the large, sensitive scar his severed tail had left behind. He gripped her waist roughly, his breath catching as her hands moved around to the front, her fingers tracing the grooves just below his hip bones with maddening tenderness. She snagged the waistband of his sleep pants, giving them a pointed tug.

“Can we...?” she asked hazily, turning her head so her breath rippled over the shell of his ear.

His whole body froze, and she released his waistband in response, her touch returning to his back almost shyly. 

“Is this...because I'm human?”

“I don't care that you're human,” he stated. It had been a concern at first, the potential of harming her unintentionally, but she wasn't quite as frail as she appeared, and he always powered down completely when they were together in this way.

“You don't seem nervous anymore,” she said. “You shouldn't be, if you are. You make me feel so good.”

The hungry glint in her eye and the sultry tone of her praise sent a pleasant flutter straight to his cock, and despite _really_ not wanting to talk right now, he couldn't bring himself to willingly pull away from her.

“So what's wrong?” she pressed.

“I never expected you too keep wanting more,” he said flatly

“Of course I want more,” she retorted, shifting her legs so his pelvis settled between them.

Vegeta straightened his arms, raising his chest off of hers, a hand planted on the mattress to either side of her shoulders and regarded her soberly. “Once you finally realize what I am, you will not.”

She shook her head in disagreement, legs wrapped insistently around him.

How he despised the way he craved her, the way he was compelled to keep going back to her like an addict in need of a fix. Even now, all he wanted to do was ravage her to the best of his yet untried abilities, but it was time that she knew what she was really getting herself into if she tied herself to him.

“If we keep this up,” he said, struggling to get his thoughts together coherently, “the pair-bond that's started between us will strengthen and complicate everything. I don’t need that kind of distraction. Sensing your inane worries and fears, not to mention all of your ridiculous human sentiments, will probably drive me insane.”

She stiffened below him, her blue eyes troubled. “Are you...breaking up with me? Over this Saiyan bond thing that you mentioned once in passing, like it was no big deal?” she asked, her voice getting louder and more agitated with every word.

“It was supposed to be a warning, but you never pay attention to those,” he answered, exasperated. 

“Your ten second mumbled explanation didn't exactly make that clear,” she snapped, propping herself up on her elbows to more effectively glower at him. “I'm sorry my hysterical human emotions scare you so badly that you need to end something that's actually been pretty great,” she yelled.

“I'm not afraid of anything!” he snarled back viciously, their noses almost touching.

His blood was boiling now, caught somewhere between arousal, rage, and denial, and Bulma, simmering in her own anger, practically naked and with her legs still clamped around him, had the absolute audacity to _scoff_ right in his face. 

Gods help him, her fire only added fuel to his own. He was so fucking hard it ached, and feeling her heat pressed between his legs and watching her pant as she waited for the next round of verbal sparring was sinfully agonizing. Pinned below one of the most powerful beings in the universe, in the most compromising of positions, and still, she was fearless. Fierce, even. It drove him seven kinds of wild.

Tamping down his more negative impulses, he glared back. “I'm not good at this, okay?” he said through bared teeth. “I wasn't done.”

“ _Fine_ ,” she huffed, “by all means, continue.”

“It's not just me, you’ll feel things, too,” he grumbled irately. “Don’t you understand how often I am subjected to extreme conditions and pain?” he asked somberly, unable to find the words to express that he wasn’t only referring to the physical sense. His life had been a nightmare, his experiences extreme even for a battle-hardened warrior, and he was loathe to share what kind of damage it had done to his psyche with her. 

“Is that really what’s been making you hold back?” she asked, her own temper seeming to subside. She brushed her fingers through the hair at his temple. “Look,” she sighed, “I can’t speak for you, but I don't think it will be an issue on my end. Honestly, I don’t even know why you think I’ll be able to tap into this bond, I don’t feel anything like that,” Bulma said.

“Oh, really?” Vegeta tilted his head, skeptical. “Then how did you know I was back tonight?”

“I just...knew,” she said slowly, her brows wrinkling in confusion as she pondered it.

“You can't sense ki,” he reminded her.

“But I can sense _you_ ,” she said, then smiled brightly.

“You aren't taking this seriously.”

“It's not like I was ever expecting an easy or normal go of it with you, Spaceman,” she teased.

He averted his eyes. “Tch.”

“I've made my choice. Stop trying to push me away or spook me into making yours for you.”

He exhaled loudly, irritated to be called out twice in one night. It would have been so much easier to accept her rejection, much more so than admitting to himself that he could not refuse her as long as he knew that she wanted him as well.

“You test me to the very ends of my patience,” he conceded.

“That's why you like me and you know it,” she sassed.

“Don't flatter yourself.” He lowered his face to chuff into her ear. “I merely dislike you the least.”

“That still makes me your favorite,” she said, her nails tracing erratic circles between his shoulder blades.

He relaxed into the sensation, settling his weight onto her a little more. He pressed a kiss just behind her ear, then lower at her collarbone, his hand traversing her petite frame wherever his own body wasn’t already covering until it came to rest on one breast. He plucked at her nipple between his thumb and forefinger carefully while his mouth encircled the other rosy target and sucked sharply.

She hummed and fisted his coarse hair as his touch wandered lower, tracing each delicate rib with the pads of his fingertips. His mouth relinquished her nipple to kiss the flat of her stomach, and his pulse began to race in his chest at her whimpers when he ran his fingers up and down along the damp, blue fabric of her panties.

“Please, Vegeta,” she groaned, drawing out his name and wriggling into his hand.

“What were you doing on those restless nights that you told me about earlier?” he asked, thoroughly enjoying the sound of her begging. Sitting up, he withdrew his touch from her completely. “Show me.”

With a frustrated whine, her hand disappeared quickly beneath the lace. Hooking his finger around the flimsy material, Vegeta tore it away with one sharp tug so he could watch, unobstructed, as her own fingers breached the wet folds of her pussy.

“This is what you do, alone in bed at night, while thinking of me?”

“Mmm, only you,” she agreed, and he watched in fascination as her glistening finger slid up and almost out of her, moving in tight, circular motions at the apex of her sex. “Let me see you, all of you,” she murmured, her pupils blown in a sea of blue.

Vegeta peeled out of his sleep pants, freeing his erection so it could stand unfettered along his belly, the weeping head of it resting just below his navel. She propped herself up to get a better view of him, her eyes drinking in his muscular form unabashedly as her hand sped up between her splayed legs.

He grinned wickedly. “And now that you have me, the Prince of all Saiyans, here at last, what would you have me do?”

“Kiss me,” she whispered breathlessly.

He advanced, leaning awkwardly over her half-reclined form, one hand taking his weight on the mattress by her hip for balance, and the other cradling the side of her flushed face. She opened her mouth to his immediately, their tongues darting together in a dizzying, all-consuming kiss.

Bulma was the one to pull away first, her breathing heavy. “Yes, just like that, but much lower,” she said suggestively, her lips twitching up in a mischievous smirk.

At first he was taken aback, unsure that he had caught her meaning properly until she moved her hand out of the way. Her scent was unbearably enticing, her pussy sopping wet and waiting for his attention, and now that she had planted the idea in his head, he suddenly found himself curious as to how she might taste.

“You vulgar woman,” he said, bemused.

She must have been expecting him to be tentative in the beginning, because she yelped in surprise and relief as he dove straight for the spot that he had seen her linger while she had pleasured herself. The scent and taste of her flooded his brain, musky and salty-sweet, his tongue flicking and swirling to tease what turned out to be a superbly sensitive bud of flesh.

“Holy fuck, Vegeta!” she cried out, her head lolling back and flinging her forearm over her face.

Hooking his arms around her thighs to keep her still, he found a rhythm that had Bulma imploring him not to stop, and he was happy to oblige as her words flowed into a nonsensical keening. Her hips continued straining vainly against his grip, and when she started trembling he lapped at her still, not stopping until she pushed at his shoulder with her foot, mewling for mercy through stuttered sobs.

If he hadn't been grinding into his own blankets for friction while going down on her, he would have demonstrated that Saiyans showed no mercy in anything. Instead, he stared down at her fervently as he wiped his face, his focus on her sharp and animalistic. Crawling over her, he trailed zealous kisses up her belly and heaving chest to her mouth, her lips puffy and soft. Her heels dug into the backs of his thighs and she grabbed his ass firmly, drawing him closer to her until his length rubbed along the outside of her slick entrance.

He growled through clenched teeth at the contact, silken and hot, absolutely done with holding himself back from this any longer. He lined them up, urgent to discover how she would feel once he was inside of her, nudging past her outer lips with his swollen head. She was so wet that it only took two clumsy thrusts to sheath himself fully within her, and she moaned delectably as she stretched around him, squeezing his ass even harder in approval. 

He buried his face in the crook of her neck when she made eye contact, suddenly unable to process the overwhelming awareness that they were touching, _everywhere_ , skin to skin. Pushing aside the last of his anxiety, he concentrated instead on how familiar he had become with _her_ touch, how perfectly her lithe body fit to his. The taste of her on his tongue and the memory of her cumming for him sent a gratifying tingle down his spine, and if he’d still had his tail, it would have given a lively lash. His need to witness her come undone once more at his behest outweighing all else, he rolled his hips in deep, even movements, attempting to acclimate himself to the sensation.

“Yes, that's it,” she mumbled blissfully into his ear, and he credited his extensive training for the self-control it took not to spill himself right then.

Once he got a handle on himself, he rocked back on his heels, rearing up so that he was kneeling and able to observe all of her movements and reactions. A moan rumbled low in his chest as he captured her by the hips, lifting her bottom off the bed to keep her pinned to him as he shifted positions, his hands sliding under her to grasp the flawless mounds of her rump. He watched himself pull nearly out of her before pushing back into her snug heat inch by tantalizing inch, then repeated the same motion, over and over as she writhed against his slow pace and her fingernails pricked into his thighs.

When he trusted his restraint once again, he increased the tempo of his thrusts in small, cautious increments, unsure of her limits. She threw her head back, her cries growing louder and his name on her lips. She braced herself against the headboard, arms above her head and chest jutting up, giving herself the leverage to match his thrusts and reassuring him of her continued enthusiasm. They also met with more force in this way, his cock able to plunge deeper until he hit a spot within her that had her sputtering for breath.

“Right there...don't stop,” she pleaded. “Oh, gods, Vegeta...”

Bulma's ki flared restlessly, her unique energy signature forever branded into his memory. He could feel her subconscious need to connect to him on this level, even if she wasn't aware of it herself. Close to her release, one of her hands left the headboard to claw at his blankets, and he reached out for it for the first time since their tryst in the Gravity Room. Bracing himself, he unraveled her fingers to interlace with his and pressed her hand to the bed, palm to palm. The link was more powerful this time, instant and electric like two power sources surging through one conduit, their ki merging and twining all around them.

“Bulma...” he gasped, their voices becoming a broken symphony of moans and ragged breaths.

His muscles constricted low in his belly, his body curling forward and over her. Teeth bared with the effort of delaying the completion his body chased, his eyes slammed shut and he got lost in an erratic series of desperate thrusts. She was silent for a moment, then her muscles fluttered and clenched around his cock in a way that had him seeing stars behind his eyelids. Once she found her voice again she called out with abandon, arching herself into him, hard, driving him in as deep as she could take him as her thighs shuddered uncontrollably at his waist. He gave in then with a shout, pouring himself into her as his vision went white, their ki crackling harmoniously.

Vegeta felt as if they were suspended briefly in time and space, just the two of them in all of existence. Nothing else mattered in those moments, the constant weight he carried with him obliterated and leaving him buoyant. 

He slumped heavily to the mattress beside her as the waves of pleasure began to ebb, and the realities of the world gradually crept back in.

“Kami...that was...amazing,” Bulma managed.

A contented agreement emanated from him that sounded embarrassingly similar to a purr, but he couldn’t bring himself to care just then. They basked in the afterglow as their heartbeats and breathing slowly returned to normal and their energy calmed into a warm, soothing hum. 

He stared up at the ceiling, pondering how it was that this disheveled woman, now faintly snoring by his side, was the only person who could temporarily quiet the demons in his head. He rolled over to face her, considering her vulnerable, naked form in the moonlight.

 _Mine_ , he thought, and then, alternatively, from someplace softer that he didn't even like to admit existed, _Hers_.

He refused to be owned by someone else, not again, but he didn't view Bulma as a possession for his taking, either. The idea of giving oneself freely, of belonging to _each other_ , started to make more sense to him, especially now that he was willing to acknowledge the bond budding between them. A pair-bond meant partnership, a metaphysical link that formed between life mates to keep them close in a war culture that frowned upon emotional proclamations and open affection.

It had made him balk at first; Vegeta was not one to do anything in half measures, and once he'd set his mind to something, it was all or nothing. That had never before involved him having to extend his orbit beyond considering his own self, and he wasn’t ready for a mate, no matter how much his subconscious disagreed. Even so, he also was obviously not prepared to abandon the only person who had ever bothered to forge any kind of connection to him. Though the timing was horrible and he had little to offer her, she made him want to try and do better, and there was real power in that.

She stretched languidly and opened her eyes, looking sheepish for dozing off. “Sorry,” she yawned, swinging her legs leisurely over the side of the bed and sitting, back exposed to him. “I know you like to wake up early, I'll let you get some rest.”

He trapped her wrist in his hand to stop her forward momentum, and she cast a questioning glance over her shoulder.

“You may have taught me a few things tonight,” he said, offering her a feral grin, “but if you think I'm done, you have a whole lot to learn about Saiyan stamina.”


End file.
